


for strings

by misura



Category: Roundtable Rival - Lindsey Stirling (Music Video)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's learned that he can never win when he comes up against her, only if this is what losing feels like, maybe it wasn't the right term to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for strings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fireinthedark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireinthedark/gifts).



> [link to (awesome!) music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvipPYFebWc)
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> many thanks to the phenomenal Devaccumulation, violin consultant extraordinaire, and Sarah, my regular beta who does not play any musical instruments, but who does a mean cheerleader imitation. <3
> 
> any remaining errors are the result of last minute tinkering on my part.

His ears are still ringing when she kisses him, hard and fast, D minor in allegro (and him caught without his earplugs, as always); there's a dizzying moment when he forgets which side's up or down, except that 'down''s probably where he's headed right now, also as always; not as if he's new to this dance or anything, for all that he wouldn't exactly go 'round calling himself _experienced_ neither.

"You never learn, do you?" she says, and her voice is a warm alto, like that of her violin, save for the part where it seems a little less likely to bowl him over, for all that it seems just as effective in bringing him to his knees.

(She doesn't sing to him, which is fair enough, he supposes, seeing as how he hasn't yet found the proper words for a serenade, either, and some things probably weren't meant for words, anyway.)

He's learned that she doesn't like men who drink, or gamble, or cheat at cards. He's learned the way she likes her tea, her breakfast and her dinner. He's learned that she can write, and read, and mend a torn skirt so well you'd hardly notice it was ever so much crumpled.

He's learned that he can never win when he comes up against her, only if this is what losing feels like, maybe it wasn't the right term to begin with.

So sure, he might never be riding off into the sunset with his saddle bags full of money, but what of it?

There's more things 'tween heaven and hell than dying old and rich and all by your lonesome.

"Well, now," he says, "I wouldn't go so far as to say _that_. I mean, 'never' is an awfully long time, Miss." (He's learned that she's never been no man's Mrs, nor will ever be, most like.)

"I should leave you tied up here for the sheriff and his men."

The sheriff and his men are a lazy bunch of good-for-nothings without so much as a pennywhistle between them. 'course, that doesn't mean they don't know how to severely inconvenience a man when the mood strikes them.

"Don't think they're into that sort of thing 'round these here parts," he says. " 'sides, you _seen_ Sheriff Withall? Far too fond of his drink, that man, and married on top of that. Wife seems nice."

"You talked to his _wife_?"

He shrugs. "She's got one of them portable whatchacallits. Fair dab hand at it, too. Main reason why people go to church on Sundays, I 'spect."

"Just how long have you _been_ here?" She sounds - not jealous, he thinks; be nice if that were true, but you don't go riding 'round trying to make a living robbing banks with any illusions.

A little surprised, maybe. "Two weeks or thereabouts." Room and board in exchange for some damn hard working - and then folks wonder why people turn to lawlessness.

"And you picked _today_ to make your big move?"

"Well, _you_ got here today, didn't you? Why wait?" He knows how this will play out: same as always. Bit of a pity about the horse; bad-tempered brute, but oddly likeable once you've figured out how to keep your fingers out of biting reach. "Sorry if you were wanting to put down roots here."

He can't picture her in a house, all _respectable_ and stuff, no more than he can picture himself.

Mighty tempting to figure that maybe that connects them, in some way, puts them on the same page, so to speak. Not like _that's_ how it is, only a man can be tempted, sometimes.

"I only came here to do one thing, and putting down roots wasn't it," she says, and this time, when she kisses him it's in andante.

"Glad to hear it," he says. The wall against his back feels hard, solid. "Putting down _me_ , then, maybe? Not that a fellow wants to flatter himself, but there don't seem to be much else going on around here."

"It's a thankless job, but someone has to do it, don't you think? Can't have you running around stealing people's hard-earned money."

In his experience, people with money they earned themselves sure know better than to put it in a bank.

" _Thankless_? Just _who_ was it who got her picture splashed all over the Sentinel's front-page, then?" He still owns the clipping, even though the ink's faded quite a bit by now, and even though any picture is a pale substitute next to the real thing.

No picture's ever going to push him back against the wall, feeling as overpowered as if she's got ten times his strength and a couple of pounds on him as well.

No picture's going to show her as she is now, with her hair coming tumbling down and a grin on her face that's well and truly out of the range of her violin. "Jealous?"

He'd happily flatten any man who'd dare to so much as pluck a single note at her - and accept she'd flatten _him_ , after, and not in a fun way, either, after, for behaving like an ass. (She'd have the right of it, naturally; he knows better than anyone she don't need no outlaw looking out for her.)

"Hardly," he says. "Just one thing we got in common 'tween us, Miss. One of the few."

"I'm heading west after this, I think," she says. "Find a job, earn some money. Some _honest_ money."

"Well, I'm sure it'll take me some time to find a new horse. And maybe another couple of boys to back me up. It gets a mite lonely out there sometimes, and I been hearing stories about these twins. Drums."

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out," she says, her hands on his shoulders, holding him in place.

"Darling," he says, loving the way the word makes her scowl and tighten her grip on him, "if only."

 

(She leaves him his pants and his shirt, but takes his hat. If he'd had the strength left to speak, he might have told her it looks good on her; as it is, he forces himself to keep his eyes open until she's gone.)


End file.
